Empty Hallways
by Sharkbottom
Summary: I know nothing about Persona 5 and have never played any of the games but got a really weird idea out of nowhere, so. Here it is. A fanfic about something I only vaguely understand and can name three characters from is a terrible idea but that's kind of exactly why I wanted to try it. Hope you enjoy this vague and probably completely inaccurate weird mental health snippet(?)


Futaba couldn't stop staring at his face. At the flesh deforming the spirit's body. It was like someone had taken the top half of a sneering, tiny eyed, all together obnoxious human being and awkwardly fused it together with the neck and base of a pig. She'd never appreciated how the pink-ness of swine kept them presentable over the sickeningly peachy tone of the bloated creature before her. The crisp, fancy suit it'd somehow stuffed itself into didn't help it's appearance more than it probably thought it did.

"Never!" He all but squealed, "Never will I bow to the likes of you!"

A shiver ran through Futaba as he snorted and stomped. She wasn't usually affected by the various threats that spewed out of the less pleasant individuals the Phantom Theives ran into, nor did any but the absolute most monstrous of them even make her raise an eyebrow. But this one, this place...it was making a mess of her. A toxic uneasiness that no one else seemed to feel. A test she couldn't get the hang of; couldn't swallow down and forget about. A restlessness, almost, that made her want to get up and run and never look back. Problem was, she wasn't sure what she'd be running from.

It wasn't until the suited-swine thumped bodily to the ground, face down, that she realized she hadn't been paying attention to the battle for the past several minutes.

"Noooooooo!" Howled a nearly identical, if somewhat larger, figure to the dispatched, fleshy lump on the floor. "How vile! How outrageous! The sheer audacity of your offense!"

She took an involuntary step backwards as her team pressed forward, closing in for the finish. There was the far from vague, clearly absent, and yet half-real of bile in her throat that had absolutely nothing to do with the scent of flame-charred pork still lightly smoldering in front of her. A deep breath that shook and shuddered from beginning to end did nothing to calm her. She tried to swallow, choked, and bit back a sob that seemed to materialize out of nothing. What was wrong with her? Was she shaking? Were her eyes really beginning to wetten beneath her goggles? Is Joker really watching her freak out instead of the pig guy?

She was. They were. He is.

Just like she was really sprinting away.

Just like they were really saying her name. In question. In concern. In disbelief.

Just like his eyes were cutting through her, or at least right before she took off. Unreadable but seeming to know every thought that ran through her head.

Hot shame and hot tears mixed in a emotional amalgamation that did nothing but make her run faster.

Back to the high school walls, hands seeking solace in the plain, blank plaster and finding none. Her head tilted upward, staring at the lightless cieling and the back of her own eyelids; whichever was more bearable at each passing second. Though the seconds were probably minutes by now. At least she didn't need to be anywhere. At least no one was looking for her. Not in this life, anyway.

Was it still minutes? The cold sweat she'd broken out in had faded, mostly, leaving her clammy-skinned but somehow still hot enough to leave her jacket where she'd thrown it off. She raised a hand to trace over her lips, her face; a vague attempt at soothing herself.

What was wrong with her? She didn't feel sick. She'd done this a million times. A million million times. And she'd do it again a million more.

That line of thought made her feel worse, if anything. Maybe she was just stressed out. Tired. Tired of this. Exhausted at the thought of the next dozen, let alone "million." How many more days would she be meant to make the world a better place? To work so hard?

She slid down the wall, even the darkness and emptiness of the hallway being too much. Uncertain. Out of sight. At the wrong place of mind at the completely incorrect time. All alone with her stupid, random, embarassing, "midlife crisis" of an issue.

Except, she wasn't alone.

She looked up. To her right, to be exact. Felt him join her, silently. She stared at him, leaning against a wall far too far from hers to actually communicate. He didn't even look at her. Just stared straight ahead, mask on, coat on, dead silent.

Jerk.

What, does he want an apology? She turned her head around, vaguely flustered and mildly irked. She was sorry. Really sorry, mister-boss-man. She was stupid and ridiculous and abandoned everyone in a situation they could clearly handle because she couldn't. There. She'd say that to him, because he wants it so bad. Duh. Of course that's why he's here, even if it's not really like him. At all. Whatsoever. And she's never said sorry to him in her life. Then what was his deal?

She turned her head once more to study him and whatever his problem was, and-

Gone.

Nothing there but empty space and the giant void his presence had put a brief stopper in.

Now she was not only thinking eighty things a minute while her tear ducts randomly leaked wild bursts of emotion, but now she was properly angry as well. Thanks, Joker. Thanks.

Can always count on him to be there when you're least expecting him. Or in general. Such a static portion of this whole mess. He was almost as constant as doing this all the time is. At least he's never made her go curl up in a cold, dark hallway at midnight. Or be cold in general. Or be too wide and empty and lost, loose and aimless like the ghosts of panic streaming through her. Not the tight, restrictive feeling of a boxy room either; the feeling that matched the squeezing sensation in her chest.

He was alright, she had to admit. The stunt he just pulled with whatever poor attempt at being wise he tried was irritating. And upsetting. But still.

Alright.

The hallway was alright too. Too cold, mainly. But the floorboards weren't the worst she'd ever felt. Clean, at least.

He was alright, it was alright.

She was alright.

Well, not fully.

She kept her eyes closed a bit longer. Traced the same patterns on the floor until the routine was distracting. Breathed until the air no longer shuddered as it exited.

She stood.

They were probably wondering what the heck happened to her. She was too, honestly.

But she'd gotten the hang of it, kind of. Not really, but she would. Definitely. She was still a little shaken for her liking, shaken by "the everything" as a whole, but she didn't hate "the everything" either. And she wanted to get back to living in it, and she'd do it tucked under his arm and making him help her out every step of the way, since he wants to be such a ghostly brainiac about it.

Besides, most all hallways warm and fill up eventually. Even if it takes waiting through a vacation or two to get there.


End file.
